Children of the Gods
by practicallypretentious
Summary: an exploration into the aesthetic of demigods
1. Children of Zeus

Children of Zeus are warm summer afternoons where the humidity matches the temperature.

they're drinking alone at a bar in their best shoes with a smile glued tight to their tired cheeks.

they're bright eyes and broken hearts, always moving, moving, moving steadily on.

they're tracing patterns into the palms of the people they care about.

they're chipped nail polish and sloppy kisses and poorly timed confessions of love.

they're climbing to the top of oak trees and never being afraid to fall.

they're an unexpected bolt of lightning.

they're catching an eagle's feather as it drifts down from the sky.

Love from a child of Zeus is fun, and fierce, and far too fleeting.


	2. Children of Hera

Children of Hera are 7am.

they're a crisp breeze in autumn and a warm one in spring.

they're handwritten notes in lunch boxes, texts that just ask you are.

they're making cinnamon rolls from scratch and eating vanilla ice cream on the side.

they're circus mirrors that never quite show what you're expecting or what you want.

they're prolonged eye contact and perfume that smells like honey.

they're sleeping soundly through the night.

Love from a child of Hera is passionate, and sweet, and never on your terms.


	3. Children of Poseidon

Children of Poseidon are mid-November skies of grey.

they're making stories out of clouds and falling asleep in their lover's lap.

they're impassioned letters that were never sent and beautiful sonnets that were never played.

they're leaving the Christmas lights up well into the new year.

they're sunny smiles and burying feet in the sand.

they're getting paint on a fuzzy sweater while repainting the living room.

they're traveling past the place marked "Here Be Dragons."

Love from a child of Poseidon is natural, and captivating, and entirely unforgettable.


	4. Children of Hades

Children of Hades are bitter cold Friday nights.

they're biting winds and biting words and biting their lover's lips.

they're drinking whiskey from a crystal glass.

they're holding hands too tightly and never saying "I love you" out loud.

they're wearing lipstick so dark red it looks black, and leaving a mark on everything they kiss.

they're holding hands beneath a cypress tree.

they're walking a tightrope of pain and pleasure, and falling.

they're fading into the background while someone else takes charge.

they're never loving anything, especially not themselves.

Love from a child of Hades is like having your heart set ablaze and liking it.


	5. Children of Demeter

Children of Demeter are the first rain of spring.

they're the intoxication of a blooming poppy.

they're getting lost in the woods for the thrill of finding a way out.

they're butterfly kisses, and Eskimo kisses, and proper kisses, too.

they're drinking hot tea on hot days and leaving a ring from the cup on the counter.

they're grass stains on a favorite pair of jeans.

they're paring artisan bread with cheap wine and laughing loudly over simple things.

 **they're dirt under your nails and behind your ears and in your hair and between your toes.**

they're dreamers and believers and try-harders and do-betters.

Love from a child of Demeter is blessed, and messy, and destined to grow uncontrollably.


	6. Children of Athena

Children of Athena are the first light of day.

they're teaching children to swim and baby birds to fly.

they're ambition and strong coffee, twinkling stars and the science behind them.

they're holding grudges over something trivial and winning shiny gold trophies for something grand they can't remember.

they're freshly mown grass and consistent haircuts and pluto remaining a planet.

they're a river searching for the path of least resistance down hill.

they're a new car playing old songs from a loud speaker on a low volume.

they're an owl waiting for something, anything, worth eating.

Love from a child of Athena is straightforward, and precious, and known to only last while beneficial to one party.


	7. Children of Aphrodite

Children of Aphrodite are the ringing phone at 1am, talking until your voice is raspy.

they're taking picnics to public parks and watching the people walk by.

they're playing your favorite song on repeat a thousand times without getting tired of it.

they're breakfast at Tiffany's with the person they love most.

they're fog rolling in over picturesque hills.

they're braiding their best friends hair while drinking pretty drinks that pack a punch.

they're slow smiles and fast kisses.

they're both kinds of strong spirits.

they're apologizing for doing nothing wrong.

they're never apologizing at all.

Love from a child of Aphrodite is confusing, and beautiful, and terribly ill-fated.


	8. Children of Ares

Children of Ares are the full heat of summer.

they're screaming, cursing, crying out to a god they don't believe in.

they're wearing black when it's too hot and white past labour day.

they're fighting for what they believe in.

they're fighting for love.

they're breaking the rules for no reason.

they're sporadic and frenzied, and long days that were never planned quite well enough.

they're singing along to the radio without knowing all the words.

they're picking up new hobbies quickly and abandoning them in the same manner.

they're saying hello with a kiss.

they're leaving without saying goodbye.

they're playing fetch with their dog on a Saturday afternoon.

they're chapped lips and blurry promises they have every intention of keeping.

Love from a child of Ares is inescapable, and irresistible, and dangerously seductive.


	9. Children of Apollo

Children of Apollo are the shining sun on a winter day; how light bounces off fallen snow.

They're tying flannel sweaters around your waist.

They're a siren's song echoing over the ocean.

They're laughter and unbrushed hair and thick eyeliner or none at all.

They're drinking soup when you're sick.

They're watching shooting stars and falling in love with the night sky.

They're a raven taking flight in a whirl of black wings.

Love from a child of Apollo is a perfect ballad that leaves you gasping for breath.


	10. Children of Hermes

Children of Hermes are your average Tuesday afternoon.

They're spearmint gum.

They're popsicles that melt into sticky trails down their hands.

They're spray paint stains in your garage.

They're un-ironically wearing Keds.

They're spontaneous games of flag football that quickly dissolve into a well-meaning brawl.

They're getting tattoos at two am with your best friend and a bottle of absynth.

They're doing ordinary things with extraordinary passion.

They're diamond rings and whispering pretty things.

Love from a child of Hermes is swift, and sweet, and never as simple as it seems.


	11. Children of Dionysus

Children of Dionysus are three in the morning.

They're drunk dialing the person you miss most.

They're leaves falling off of trees.

They're a kitten's first claws; learning to destroy.

They're laughing because everything is funny: even heartbreak, _especially_ heartbreak.

They're slamming glass doors.

They're crossing items off a very short bucketlist.

They're blowing smoke rings to impress your friends, and foes, and strangers, and maybe themselves.

Love from a child of Dionysus is rare and wild and unbearably disastrous.


	12. Children of Hecate

Children of Hecate are the last day of fall, watching leafs drift off of nearly-empty tree branches.

they're ink bleeding through journal pages.

they're getting standing unmoving at the fork in the road, barefoot, toes buried in dirt.

they're watching wet footprints dry on cool concrete.

they're torches burning long into the night.

they're a dot of blood on the edge of the sharpest dagger.

they're black-painted fingernails scratching your name into the soft-wood bench.

Love from a child of Hecate always feels meant to be, the trouble is, it usually isn't.


	13. Children of Hephaestus

Children of Hephaestus are the blazing sun at high noon.

They're dirt under your nails.

They're a jackhammer waking you up at eight in the morning on a Saturday.

They're lattes burning the roof of your mouth.

They're steel-toed boots.

They're not knowing what it means to be loved, or to love.

They're straight As in high school and failing out of college.

Love from a child of Hephaestus is unbending and unbreakable.


	14. Children of Persephone

Children of Persephone are the changing temperature of a new season.

They're your mother's pearl necklace and the septum piercing you got with your best friend.

They're flowers that haven't bloomed, and colored leaves falling off trees.

They're a bite taken out of an apple.

They're ancient gravestones with a garden growing overtop.

They're the letter of the law spelled out in fine print.

They're drinking boxed red wine out of crystal glasses.

They're watching the grass grow and loving every minute.

Love from a child of Persephone is irrefutable, and malleable, and unbelievably demanding.


End file.
